The Winds of Change

Let me assure all my readers and friends that PinF has survived Wilma. Thank you all for your inquiries and emails regarding mine and Sophie's well being, all of which I was unable to receive due to the extensive loss of power in S. Florida. PinF has arrived in Pennsylvania to tend to more pressing matters regarding my father's health. My journey wasn't easy as I had to drive 180 miles to Orlando with the possibility of no gas stations open along the way board a flight. My reservation was worthless due to the devestation and loss of electricity in West Palm Beach.

A current posting is long overdue; though the inspiration for such hasn't exactly been there. PinF is very much back in the same "life-limbo" he was in July when he was recalled from Florida to tend to his father, only this time it is much more grave. Couple all this with the stress and worry that comes with a hurricane, and you have a neglected blog. Nevertheless I'm also keenly aware of just how many of you have come to rely on these frivilous postings as much as your morning coffee's, as such I am duty bound to report in. So many of you have responded with words of support and encouragment; many of whom I've never even met which makes your words even more helpful and humbling.

As I was "hunkered" down in my house during Wilma I was thinking two things: 1. How bad the weathermen screwed up the forecast, and 2. How insignificant our trivial worries and responsibilities are. Something about 125 MPH winds make you put your priorities in order, and slowly you become less concerned with bills, salaries, work related issues, cars, and possesions until you are stripped down of your wordly worries and just praying to yourself and to your God that you make it through this. That's where I was one week ago today, in my closet under my stairs with my cat, listening as the roof started to go, and then the fence, not to mention the trees and someone's F-150 cap. It was the first time that I can remember being scared since I was eight and climbed the ladder of highdive at our swimclub only to realize I hadn't any interest in jumping from a height into water I was barely able to tread in.

My thoughts were of my daughter and my family. Nothing else really mattered, I didn't care about the car, the motorcycle, hell I didn't care about the house; all I wanted was for this hideously moaning wind to stop. It did, for about an hour. I was in the "eye", and ever so slowly myself and my communitie's neighbors all started to assemble outside and begin to assess the damage. It was extensive, trees down on cars and houses, broken gas main's- which incredibly were responded to by the emergency officials. My roof was 1/3 ripped of it's cedar shingles, my 6 foot privacy fence was shattered, giving me a newer style of privacy. PinF went immediately across the way to check on his elderly neighbor, an 80 yr old gem of a woman named Doris from Kentucky, she too was fine. We all exchanged stories, had a beer or two and then quickly scattered as the "backend" of the storm began to roar. This was to be far more terrifying and destructive than the first 3 hour session.

Suffice to say PinF made it. He dealt with the loss of power and infrastructure and began the immediate clean-up of his area. Then I attempted to call the airlines to cxl my next day flight, unbeknowst to me that Wilma already had. I was to be thwarted from leaving S. Florida for two more days, my father's condition steadily deteriorating, until finally I took the move of driving to Orlando on what gas I had and catching a flight from there.

None of this was easy. None of this was fun. But as I've told the few people who've asked I still feel only "inconvenienced", and not really destroyed by this. I need only look to New Orleans, Pakistan, and Guatemala to see the depth of complete despair coupled with the loss of hope. For when hope is lost, all is lost. PinF lost some roof tiles, and a fence, and all of his refrigerated goods. What PinF gained was a truer understanding of his own temporary human existance and a much clearer unbderstanding of what really matters in life, and that is just that- LIFE. All the other shit is stuff we choose to clutter our minds with, never really thinking that everthing is a gamble and that we all walk the thin line, and that thin line is likely to snap when all of us least expect it.

My father's current predicament is an example of this thin line. So is my being here again. My priorities are clear: work, bills, and hurricane clean-up can wait. What matters most to me is life, and unlike a week ago it isn't mine that matters now but my dad's.

Para-dicey

Well the rent is due. PinF has watched and waited for 5 months as people throughout the gulf and carribean have been besieged with catastrophic hurricanes. Now it's our turn. Another alphabet killer, this time named Wilma is on the way. Quite a contrast from what I've just seen as I cycled down and back this past weekend. I saw crystal turquoise blue waters and sun-drenched islands of bleach white sand. Here is where life moves at a considerably different pace, and where clocks really have little sway over the locals. Tiki huts populate the upper keys as you make your way towards Key West, offering cold beer and conch fritters and plenty of locals with fish tales. It's enough to make one wonder if anyone works here, as it seems everyone's kind of on an extended holiday.

The reminders of past hurricane's and their power are everywhere. The most notably obvious are the ruins that run parallel to the Over Seas highway, these are long since battered remants of the original highway and railroad that were washed out by past hurricanes. These are all sobering reminders of the power of nature and the vulnerability of these island gems that are strung out 170 miles into the Atlantic ocean. For anyone who has never been, this is a must see area of this incredibly large country of our's.

I was enjoying my ride rumbling down through Keys anticipating all that is Key West: the revelry, the music, and the food. Of course there is the sunset too. I met up with a life long good friend from Pennsylvania Laurie MacLaughlin and her parents, herself a resident of the Keys for almost 20 years as are her parents who retired here a few years ago. Her work as a marine biologist with NOAA is what brought her here-- and I beleive keeps her here, as she is passionate about the reef and its preservation. We spent a great evening enjoying good food, good drink and then a little of night life. I was treated to wonderful hospitality and a comfortable bed, all much appreciated after an often rain soaked ride down.

Now it's back to the reality of what is coming. I wonder how Sophia is handling this, as the TV is non-stop with it's forecasts, and of course everyone starts talking bout this, not to mention probably even the school itself. Weighing even heavier on my mind is my father's health. He was involved in auto accident last week and has now slipped back into a very uncertain state, and is currently in ICU. The true dilemma will arise if his condition worsens, as I am now in for the immediate haul to make sure Sophia is protected with the impending storm, a fact I made the Pennsylvania Doctor aware of. I also realize and can imagine if my father could communicate to me, he would tell me to be here for my daughter, that he'd be ok, that's just the way he is; of course I'm torn all the same. Still the most important thing in getting a child through this type of ordeal is putting up a calm front. I realize that Sophia, and indeed all children take there cues from their parents in times of crisis, so as worried as I am for my father and of course our collective safety here, I cannot afford top be anything but calm and confident.

Of course Sophia and I have been through this before with Frances and Jeanne last year, and she has witnessed for herself the power that is a hurricane. She missed quite a bit of school as well, having lost power to our entire area for 7 days. So we wait; we watch the weather, and we prepare as best you can. You take the precautions that need to be taken, you make sure your vehicle has plenty of gas so as not to be caught in the panic. I did that this morning, so at lunch I will gather up the non perishables I am short on and then go over a plan with my buddy John and Sophia's mother, as I am still concerned for her safety as well. I have a concrete house to shelter in, so I'm confident. After this, you put your faith in God, and hunker down. My biggest fear at this point prior to the storm is whether or not I'll see the Eagles game, as I suspect we'll be without power--add that to the list: a portable battery powered TV.

Southbound

***PinF is back after an exhilarating ride. There are 13 postcards on their way to the 13 respondents of the PinF2K celebration...more later ***

After a minor rain delay....PinF is now southbound(to his offices in the Keys). Accompanying PinF is none other than John BV Breeding, on his new 2006 (12 hrs. new) Harley Sportster, hence the rain delay. PinF out.

Pride, Joy and LOVE

Countdown To PinF2k Celebration

UPDATE: PinF is happy to announce he will be sending 13 postcards to three different continents, and 6 different countries! Thanks to all who particpated and watch for those cards! A special congratulations goes out to the Mark Peck and his wife Amy, a frequent visitor and most astute commentator--in recognition of their new born son...I'm not sure but rumour has it his name is Paynter....God bless the little guy.
Welcome! If you're a regular you already know PinF is celebrating his 2,000th visitor. So if your seeing this message it's because PinF will be mailing you a Post Card of thanks from his homebase here in S. Florida, USA. If you've just stumbled upon PinF by chance -- welcome just the same. In celebration of all the worldwide visitors and daily readers PinF has decided to send a Florida Postcard to every visitor to PinF who visits between counter number 1,975 through 2,005 (scroll to bottom to see). So, if this is you-- no matter where you are in the world-- send me your mailing address by clicking here-----> paynterinflorida@safe-mail.net and I'll be sending you greetings from South Florida.

The Keys to Life

PinF has long maintained the surest way to emotional balance is taking time for yourself -- and regularly. Though I haven't always been able to take the time as much as I would like, I have still taken short periods here and there. My summer trip by cycle was a commitment I had made to myself last winter as I worked my way into my new-found single life. This trip was quite therapeutic as it gave me the time I needed to be alone and ponder the meanings of so many different events and changes in my life.

To this ends, the time has come again for a short reprieve of sorts. I will load the VStrom and motor on down the Keys for some R&R. I will take nothing I don't need. Specifically my kit will include an I-Pod, a rain suit, small kit of toiletries and one change of clothing, oh and my camera too. That's it- nothjing more. I will get on the turnpike at 5AM and ride into sunrise with my music in my ears. By 8AM I should be chilling in Key Largo having a Cuban variation of breakfast, my cares behind me and the sun above me. From here I will enjoy my morning Cuban coffee while reading the paper-- hopefully dockside somewhere, keeping to no schedule or person other than my carefree self. From Key Largo I will head further south into the Lower Keys, specifically Marathon and then onto Bahia Honda State Park...this is where the PinF southern offices are located, and from where I will be writing the many PostCards I have to send. This is also where I will make a day of chilling and some snorkeling. I forgot to mention that I will have with me a journal, and a book; they will figure into my day probably from here. After any early water activities I intend to move less than the giant tortoise, occasionally cracking a cold beer, and taking a dip, other than this it'll be a major chill session.

After my relaxing morning/afternoon, I plan on meeting some old friends the MacLaughlin's, for drinks and dinner, where I shall partake of the fresh bounty that is the Keys. This of course will be supplemented by several JW Blacks as well. From here I imagine we'll take in the sunset celebration along Mallory Square in downtown Key West. I'm sure after this I will be visiting a few of the more famous watering holes along the famous Duval Street, more to soothe my thirst for music than my thirst for scotch. I'll spend the night in KW and then get up and do it all over again the next day only heading north this time. This should be a nice easy ride as the speed limits in the Keys really dictate the pace.

Mind you, PinF will have with him the list of PostCard recipients that qualified via "PinF2K", so you can imagine the variety and quality of postcards my recipients will be receiving worldwide. So for those of you caught up in the doldrums of winter, or even fall depending on what hemisphere you're located, PinF will be sending a bit of the Florida sunshine via his PostCards, so submit those names to paynterinflorida@safe-mail.net, and then watch your box.

2000 Friends of PinF !

I happened to notice that PinF is quickly approaching 2000k visits. It's nice to know that there are people spread near and far around the global community who stop in from time to time to see what's got my attention on any given day.

Lately it seems we've been in a glut of catostrophic news stories, what with Katrina, the California wildfires, Pakistan/Kashmir earthquake, and now Guatemala and its devestating floods. This harkens back to what Nation of Islam leader Louis Farakhan stated after Katrina, (most incorrectly and irresponsibly I might add). I had commented on the fact that he had assigned blame for Katrina as God's wrath towards the United States for our policies in the middle east. The recent turn of events in Pakistan and Guatemala has me wondering what God is mad about now? As it appears he is nothing if not an equal opportunity God, spreading suffering and destruction equally throught the Christian, Muslim, and Hindu countries. I'll have to stay tuned to Mr. Farakhan's rantings in the next few days as he is much like the National Inquirer with his bombastic statements, specifically designed to call attention to him and his idealogies.

So, back to the upcoming "visitor 2000" I'm excited, and have been trying to think of something to mark this occasion. I'm considering mailing out some postcards to where ever in the world I receive visits from on this day. And for the actual "visitor 2000"? Not sure, still thinking that one through-- maybe I'll do a PinF biography to be featured on PinF of whomever, from wherever, makes the "2000th" post. So if your a regular, or if you just happen to scroll on by; may I suggest scrolling to the bottom of this page to take a look at the counter to see if in fact you are "the one"?

Judging by my daily visit average, I should hit 2000k on Thursday sometime -- any person from anywhere in the world can leave their address to have a genuine PinF postcard mailed to their corner of the world. I do however have to limit this offer, so lets say anyone who emails their address starting from visitor numbers 1,975 to 2,005, these people will recive a postcard mailed from the PinF offices here in sunny, warm Florida. You can email me your address to paynterinflorida@safe-mail.net. Mind the counter though, no visitor before 1,976 will receive a postcard.

Write on...

PinF welcomed a few new links this week that he wanted to call attention to. Both are well known and accomplished in their own right long before this medium of writing was in vogue. One studied writing; I can remember reading his stories when he was in college about the everyday people and experiences that colored his life. The other, well he was most renowned for his propensity towards the "less is more" style of writing, usually scribing short, succinct letters known more for the amount of questions they asked than the actual information they themselves provided. Still each has quality in their own particular way.

The one who trained in writing never actually used his skill in the convential or obvious manner in which many would have imagined he would, instead he enhanced his abilities by writing his impressions of all things wordly through his other gift - music. He's best known for his musical abilities and showmanship on stage, yet many who don't know him don't realize that the many songs they love, or the numerous CD's he's made were actually his writings come alive. He's talented in voice for sure, but his zeal for singing is inspired by the fact that he is literally singing his stories, instead of just letting people read them. In essence he sings his stories, night in and night out and gets paid to do it. Anyone who knows him, knows he carries a notebook chock full of songs, some he's recorded, some he hopes to, and still others will probably never make it to music. Still he's a writer first; a singer second. So welcome Scott, and to the many who read this you can find him here.

The other added link has also become aware of his writing talents as is illustrated by his works of late. He too has written his thoughts to music, though his chosen path was the exact opposite of Scott's, learning instead to make music first and then to color his music with words. He self taught himself more than 5 instruments and records his music himself. I guess it matters very little whether you write music or stories, so long as you write. In the end it's all one in the same really, as music can speak to a soul as well if not better than any written word can. If you can then put those words to music, well then you're soothing the mind and the spirit, as each of these two have done so well. I know this well- as they are both my brothers, one is very known due his public persona and illuminated career, still the other is lesser known - a fact he actually embraces, as it allows for greater freedom to find his "voice" as he steadily learns more and more. I hope any readers of PinF will take the time to listen to their music, but more importantly hear their words. So welcome also to Bill, his site can be found here, hopefully very soon he'll also post his lyrics.

Praying for Sense

As I sat through mass yesterday, my daughter Sophia by my side, I was struck when during the normal requests for prayers the monotone voice reading them said "for the men and women in the armed forces fighting for peace-- we pray". "fighting for peace"...hmm.

I had to think about this, as I couldn't get a handle on such an oxy-moronic thing to say. Fighting for peace--wow. I was under the impression to fight for peace would be to exhaust all possible avenues within the world community ie: diplomatic options, humanitarian assistance, maybe democratic regime changes. Yet here I was in church of all places where I was encouraged to say prayers in support of fighting. Not that PinF is opposed to war. When they're necessary-(wars)-- I'd be praying for the bullets to hit their marks. Take the Falklands, the Argentinians asked for and got a war. The Taliban-- again, never was there a more deserving and oppresive bunch of punks who deserved to have their asses thumped, I prayed those missiles found their marks as well.

This mess in Iraq is just that-- a mess. No one doubts or denies the danger that fundamentalist Islam poses to the civilzed world. It also goes without saying that Sadaam was a very evil man who committed countless atrocities agains 100's of thousands of people, both in Iraq and to its bordering neighbors (Iran, Kuwait). The problem is, as I open my newspaper every morning and see the wars of calamity befalling this country right here in our midsts (New Orleans, Missisippi, California), is that Iraq was NOT a war we needed to fight. I know, I know, Sadaam gassed 5,000 Kurds...yeah, yeah and he gassed tens of thousands of Iranians too during his war with them(where were all the WMD protestors then?). But what was it specifically that he was poised to do to us? Oh yeah-- WMD's, that's the reason we spent this 200 billion dollars. Kind of funny when all the World Trade Tower attackers came from our so called "ally", (Saudi Arabia), funny how we didn't declare war on them?

My point is this....I opened my Palm Beach Post paper this week and saw the first female soldier was killed in action from Palm Beach County. And what is so strange about this you might ask? Well for some it might be the fact that she was a woman, which in itself is kind of rare in war. Yet that isn't what struck me at all. What struck me as odd and particularly wasteful about this loss of life in particular was just a single sentence in the Palm Beach Post article. This young woman's name was Elizabeth Jacobson, 21 years old. She was by all accounts that I've read, a young lady who had trouble adjusting after her parent's divorce, yet she was beginning to find her direction in life. As I read her story it became clearer that she, like so many others her age was a young woman trying to find her path, unfortunately for her it lead her to the wrong place at the wrong time. She had hopes, dreams, and seemed just as naive as many other 21 year-olds. Yet here I was reading the obituary of a young woman cut down in her prime, another victim of an angry Islamic militant radical with much more hate in his heart than Ms. Jacobson could ever hope to match with the boundless love in her's. She was an airman in the Air Force, not typically a role that would seem to be too dangerous even in a war zone, apparently not so in this case.

Thus Ms. Jacobson became the first female casuality of the war in Iraq from Palm Beach County, a distinction granted her by a flawed policy fighting a sensless war. Oh and that one sentence? By the time she was deployed to Iraq in June, the changes in her were obvious. "I think she really just turned into a woman when she went away," Steinhoff said. Now that's the second oxy-moron concerning this war that I've read in as many days. "...she turned into a woman when she went away...", too bad she had to turn into a dead woman when she went away.

Ancient Chinese Secret

It had been a long, hot, fun-filled day of museum visits, I-Max movies, and street stomping. Sophia and I had gotten to know the Philadelphia public transport system well, and had made our way from Manayunk to downtown via the route 27 bus. Even this, though not the train we had planned to ride, was "exciting" to her -- funny kid. So we get off at 15th and JFK, and it's a glorious fall day with just a hint of coolness in the air. Sophia spied it first and quickly alerted me, as she had this on her "list" for some time now. The "LOVE" statue. Truly an iconic spot in Philadelphia, I had forgotten how beautiful the park was with the towering fountain behind the plaza and the flag draped view down the parkway ending in the grand Philadelphia Museum of Art. It's days like these when you really give thanks to be here and just soaking in the many sites you may have taken for granted for so long.

"Taken for granted". Isn't that how many of us go through life? Just passing by the sites that surround us, never really giving them a new glimpse or a second look. It occured to me that many of the places I still hadn't taken Sophia were these kinds of places, the ones I just assumed were of no interest because I had already been there. The LOVE Park for instance was something I had forgotten was so nice, yet Sophia had seen it so many times in books or magazines that she now wanted to see it. So of course the obligatory photo was in order and thanks to a nice couple from Ireland we got one. From here we quickly shuffled down the parkway the five blocks to the Franklin Institute opting to walk instead of riding the bus as it was so nice. Sophia quickly spotted the Venezuelan flag and we had our second photo op of the day.

One of neatest aspects, as well as awesome responsibilities of being a parent is in shaping a young life to go off into the world and make it a better place; PinF understands this. Too often children are raised in bigoted or racist enviroments, something that only perpetuates throughout their lives. Sophia for her part is a child of two cultures and two languages and is accepting of all colors, languages and customs, a fact I am quite proud to see. She seems to thrive on this when she is in the city with people of all colors, and never once stares or asks about "other" looking people. Last year when I would volunteer at her school her class was made up of 28 kids representing 4 languages, 3 ethnicities, and 6 countries. Of course much of this is due in part to her being raised in Florida, itself a mixing pot of cultures and ethnicities. This in itself has been good for Sophia's personal development as it further illustrates with a real life lesson how America embraces and celebrates diversity, as she herself does with both her Irish and Venezuelan ancestery.

After completing our objectives at the Franklin Institute, which included a vist to the Fels Planetarium, the new I-Max movie, and the giant heart, we set out again into the warm sunshine of the beautiful fall day. We were soon on the Philly Phlash bus headed to the Reading Terminal for lunch. After filling ouselves with lunch and a little ice cream we then walked out of the terminal and discussed the the hour and whether we should head on home, as I knew I still had to navigate Friday rush hour on a bus full of commuters. It was then that Sophia asked me why the street signs were in Chinese? That she even knows it's Chinese as opposed to Korean or Japanese I put down to her Hello Kitty "Hello World" book. This book introduces children to 13 different cultures and greetings in their languages. I explained that this is where Chinatown was; Sophia couldn't believe that there was an entire neighborhood of Asian people living and talking in their own enclave of ethnicity. It was then that I realized that this visit into a completely new enviroment would be as interesting as it would be educational. I soon realized the education value of this detour was far greater than any museum we could visit, as it gave Sophia a better picture of America and it's freedoms and tolerances.

Off we went entering under the ornate Chinese Arch that signifies the beginning of a complete cultural change from the Philadelphia outside of the arch. The arch located at at 10 and Arch St. is actually a "Friendship Gate" and as we passed through into Chinatown we were greeted by a myriad of aromas and activity. The sidewalks were busy with shopkeepers and shoppers. We weaved our way through the fishmongers shop, the various gift shops and down the street, deeper and deeper into this "new" world. Finally we came upon a Hello Kitty gift shop and immediately entered. Of course this was all knock off Hello Kitty stuff from China, but Sophia didn't seem to mind, and my wallet wasn't complaining either. After 30 minutes and several dollars we parted and started our walk back towards Arch Street, Sophia having clearly enjoyed both the sights and sounds of our new found environment. It wasn't until we were on the plane home and recounting our week-end that I asked her what the best part of trip was for her. I clearly expected to hear the museums or the time spent with uncles, cousins and grand-parents; much to my surprise she said it was "Chinatown". Interesting, since we so often are reminded of just how small our world is becoming; it was nice to see that Sophia's got a little larger on this trip.

Paynter'sinPhilly...again.

That's right....we're on the move north - yet again. Sophia and I fly tonight to attend my brother's innaugural "Fall Equinox" party, whatever the hell this is. I'm told it's a celebratory event marking the seasonal change, pehaps it'll be like the Druids at Stonehenge? PinF has-- by parental decree, absolved his daughter of her academic requirements tomorrow, (good to be the King) in order for her to accompany me on this trip north.

Of course PinF recognizing the precedent and example he sets in doing so has also planned an educationally fun day in the City of Brotherly Love. Tomorrow Sophia will once again do what is so foreign to most people in Florida--board a commuter train. We'll head on down to the vaunted Franklin Institute of Science to try and quench my little scientist's thirst for knowledge. Sophia's been here before, when we did our inaugural trip last year in which we did the Franklin Institue, Natural Science Museum, the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall and then had lunch in the Reading Terminal Market. Suffice to say I had to all but carry her onto the train last year for our ride back to Swarthmore. This year figures to be different, as Sophia has been planning and looking forward to this years tour.

Of course much was learned last year, and we will trim our itinerary a bit. We learned of the greatest deal in town last year by riding the Philly Phlash, this is a tourist Trolley bus that does a continuous loop around center city from the Art Museum to the Liberty Bell- all for only a dollar.!...The Plash stops at all the best museums, attractions and even comes complete with a totally unfunny driver who sounds a lot like Rocky. So if you can stand being seated next to some yahoo from Arkansas while you ride around the city looking all touristy, there really isn't a better way to do it.

The coup de grace of our visit will be our attending the premiere of the new Imax movie Magnificent Desolation - Walking on the Moon 3D. This should be huge, as Sophia is a big fan of anything planetary, the 3D aspect is always a plus too. From the Frankilin Institute we'll try another scientific gem of Philly, the Mütter Museum , a little known museum of medical abnormalities and anomalies...this place is freaky! We'll probably take our show on down to the Liberty Bell again as she loved the gift the shop there last year. From there it'll be our return trip to the Reading Terminal Market for lunch. If this doesn't wear Sophia out then I'm in trouble. We'll then be returning to Manayunk for her to attend a sleep over with her Nana, from here I will jettison myself off to attend yet another bloggers convention with the illustriously light-hearted and funny (mis)Adventures of Chuck himself, also rumoured to be attending is the one and only CNN, the woman not the network. Rounding out this week's convention is that political warhorse Tedman, king of the Podcast; all of this taking place at the unofficial blogger's headquarters-- Sligo's in Media. So this is PinF's / PinPhilly weekend, complete with bubble-gummy fun, hell if Chuck isn't busy working on his "bowl", I may see if he wants to tag along..............

7 Decades of Justice -- Simon Wiesenthal

For your benefit, learn from our tragedy. It is not a written law that the next victims must be Jews. It can also be other people. We saw it begin in Germany with Jews, but people from more than twenty other nations were also murdered. When I started this work, I said to myself, 'I will look for the murderers of all the victims, not only the Jewish victims. I will fight for justice.'(Quoted in an interview in Penthouse Magazine, 1983)

Could any of us even possibly imagine having seven-dozen of our most loved relatives rounded up from all over the country and then have them worked, starved, and tortured to death. This group would include your parents, maybe your children, your aunts, uncles, and brothers and sisters, even your grandparents if you're lucky enough to still have them. To make it even worse, many of your most beloved friends and acquaintances would also suffer the very same fate.

Then, imagine this DID happen to you; and starting tomorrow you would begin a systematic and relentless sixty-year quest to bring those who had perpertrated this injustice upon you and your loved ones to face their own judgement. Your jurisdictions would know no bounds, your pain would have no solace; still you would perservere doggedly on every continent where ever the murderers might hide. The difference being, you would offer those accused of this hatred justice. Justice based on democratic laws that are subject to both appeals and public review; not the justice that was so indiscriminately meted out to the millions of innocents. This is of course would be in stark contrast to the summary judgements your seven-dozen loved ones not to mention hundreds of friends had received.

If you can even begin to imagine such a horror then you would know the life that Simon Wiesenthal has led. He died last night at 96. In his brutal early life he saw exactly these horrors and many more, yet he perservered to personally bring to justice over 1100 Nazi's in hiding for genocide and crimes against humanity. His relentless spirit of justice was motivated by his desire to give a voice to those who would never speak again, and to make sure the world did not forget the evil that men do. In a world short of true heroes and saints Simon Wiesenthal stood tall. Mr. Wiesenthal lost 89 members of his family and lived the remainder of his remarkably long life seeking the justice for those oppressors which they themselves denied to every single member of his family and community. This is a true hero.

Mug Shot: Van Gogh, Matisse, Turner....Paynter?

PinF is big fan of art. Currently my collection has become quite substantial; kind of funny how it just kind of grew until I noticed I had a fair amount one day. I have all kinds of art, becuase that's how I am - I have varied tastes. Some of the artists are famous either internationally or regionally, others are renonwned locally, some are family members and some are friends. Alot of my art is from my most favorite artist, Sophia Veronica Paynter, she's the 7 year-old prodigy based in Florida. As for sentimental value, the value that PinF holds much dearer than any monetary worth, well Sophia's art would rank highest. I have all sorts of paintings, drawings, and even a few illustrated books she's written, all extremely valuable to me.

My most valuable pieces in terms of monetary value would be my two Andrew Turner's; he's an African American artist from Chester, Pennsylvania whose work has become a bit more renowned since his passing a few years ago. Recently I read where several people of notoriety have works by Turner, an impressive list to be sure. Maya Angelou, Bill Cosby, Prince, and Woody Allen just to name a few. You get the picture, he's pretty famous. So I do indeed feel lucky that my mother gave me these two paintings when she left for the Peace Corps three years ago on what I thought was a loan, only to find out later was actually a gift for good. Thanks Mom.

Also adorning PinF's walls here in S. Florida are pieces of collage art from my brother Chris (Flash), unique and exhilarating works that I treasue as much as my "Turner's". My other brother Bill's wife Sally Paynter, is an accomplished and sought after local artist who resides in Swarthmore, her art also hangs in mi casita. Sally recently visited PinF for a weekend visit and busted out a poster sized watercolor of my daughter, a real treasue that I just love. Still yet another of my favorite artists and quite accomplished in her own right is a wonderful woman by the name of Mina Segal, she is a Philadelphia native and shows locally in galleries in Philadelphia.

Mina's story really makes her pieces even more interesting. She was PinF's art teacher from kinder through 4th grade. Cool huh? she became friends with my mother in 1969 and has been an intricate part of our family's fabric ever since, almost as if she was family. Each of my four brothers and mother all have "Segal's" hanging, and they too are much treasured in my collection. Aside from these "connected" artists in my life, I also own a smattering of reproductions like Matisse, Botero, and some art show poster repro's. So my collection is pretty neat and quite eclectic.

Recently PinF had the good fortune to receive an authentic - get this now -- Van Gogh! That's right, my blessed daughter Sophia recently bestowed upon me a work of art that takes the cake in my collection. I know you're asking yourself how could a seven year-old obtain an actual Van Gogh. Quite simply actually, anyone could have a real Van Gogh, provided of course you live here in Florida and have access to "Go Van Gogh", the pottery painting craft shop. Yup, that's right we spent the afternoon creating art together, and what fun it was. It's kind of a funky, laid back coffee shop/wine bar type of place where you pick out a piece of raw ceramic and then use their paints at a cost of $7.00 and hour to create your own unique piece of art. After you finish, you leave it with the friendly staff and they fire your piece and call you in a week to pick it up. My "piece" was a wonderfully large coffee mug with an "I love Dad" impression on the front. Sophia generously, (as is her style) applied funky, vibrant, and intense colors to this mug, giving it a real "one-of-a-kind" look.

Suffice to say I have received no less than 20 compliments on my mug at work, quite a feat when you consider how innocuous a coffee mug is really. Now, in review, I have to admit that this type of endeavor isn't really cheap either. When you add the price of the raw mug ($11.00), plus the price of painting (1.5 hr. at $7.00 per hr.) then factor in a few chocolate chip cookies, two hot chocolates, two Heinekens (a man's got be hydrated), well you get the picture. The $11.00 coffee mug winds up costing about $45.00. Still in my mind this mug with "Sophia Paynter 2005" emblazoned on the bottom was a steal at this price. Sure it's not as valuable as a real Van Gogh, afterall my designation of "priceless" would actually make this piece more valuable than a Van Gogh. The time spent and the memories created will offer value to both of us for years to come. (Check back for photos of the "mug")

New and Improved !!

By now any regular visitors to PinF will have noticed there have been some changes to the formatting and coloring of the site. In an a constant effort to improve your visit I felt some minor tweaking was in order, hence the changes. You'll still recieve your daily doses of Florida wisdom and observation, just in a cleaner format.

On another note, PinF never mentioned that he surpassed 1000 visits last month! Who exactly was the lucky 1000th I'm not sure. Never the less I would say 1000 was no more important than the 1st, or the 459th; the important point being PinF appreciates each and every visitor. The visits have been far and wide; thanks to the advances of counters I am able to see visitors from such places as China, Norway, Finland, Russia, India, Argentina, Uruguay, UK, France, Italy, Mexico, Belize, Canada, Iran, Venezuela, Mexico and many others. For sure the majority of visits are from here in the US, still it's interesting to note that one person's opinions, musings, and observations are so powerfully broadcasted to the far reaches of the world via this wonderful medium we call the internet. If this keeps up I'm going to have to offer a translating tool on PinF for the non-English reading visitors. Thank you one and all, no matter where you come, as the many visitors are richly and warmly appreciated, and allow PinF to vicariously travel to the many distant lands he hopes to visit in person one day.

Heroes, One and All

I didn't intend to watch it, it was actually quite by accident that I did. I was weary of a Hollywood-esque spin that may be infused into the story, luckily there wasn't. I'm glad I did watch though because if nothing else, watching this story reinforces my belief in good vs. evil, right vs. wrong, and the inherent good and valor in all people no matter their age, sex or station in life. The story of United Flight 93 explains in painful, tearful, and heartfelt detail the sacrifices of 40 incredibly brave Americans on that fateful day 4 years ago.

No one will ever forget where they were or what they were doing the day America was attacked by Al Qaeda terrorists; this story only serves to further remind us that there are those who would willingly give their lives in the pursuit of evil and terror. Luckily for all of us, there were also those who chose to stand up to evil and fight, these men and women were equally up to the challenge of sacrificing their lives, only their efforts were for the good of others. In case anyone has forgotten, this is the real reason for starting "our war on terror". The United States acted swiftly and justly in removing the Taliban and hunting down those responsible for the cowardly and brutal attacks on New York and Washington, indeed all of America. What struck me more than the devestation of the lives lost were the the suffering of lives left behind by fathers, mothers, husband and wives, daughters and sons. The movie is interspersed with real interviews of the families who survived these heroes and their recollections of the final conversations many of them had during flight 93 final moments. The power of these testimonies harkens back to what I said after the bombings in London, and that is to tell those you love that you do; and live today as if you may not have tomorrow.

The selfless act of these 40 Americans is generally accepted as an act of courageous sacrifice that in all likelyhood spared many more innocent lives of people in Washington DC, not to mention our Capitol building. I cannot even begin to imagine a casual flight that by some horrible twist of fate becomes the defining and final moment in my life, never getting to see my family or daughter again. Yet this is what these people faced, as they slowly became aware of the havoc being wrought throughout our country on this fateful day through their phone converstaions with loved ones. These men and women knew they would have to die; they said their good-byes and then got on with the business of standing up to the face of pure evil. I'm sure this moving and powerful show will be re-run and I urge you all to watch, no matter how painful and difficult it may be. The fact that they did indeed die is painfully over shadowed by the testimonies of the family members as they recall both through memory and actual recordings their final conversations with loved ones.

What would you say if you knew that such a conversation would be your last? Father's and mother's giving a lifetime of instructions and gratitude to their partners in a few moments time, sons and daughters thanking their parents for all they had been given. This serves as a powerful statement to the fragileness and value of all that we hold dear. We now live in much more uncertain and dangerous times than four years ago, still the underlying theme of this real life docudrama is one of hope, sacrifice, and courage, something we all can use more of. I'll never forget that day, if nothing else it makes me look at how lucky and blessed I am to have what I have and live where I live.

Conversations With God

I thought that maybe with all the suffering in New Orleans and Mississippi as of late I should check in with the big guy....you know, GOD. It would appear that every other militant, angry, fanatical, axe grinding minister, and anti-abortionist has-- so why shouldn't I? I didn't realize that these so called "leaders" all have an open pipeline to GOD. As it turns out they don't. For if they did, they wouldn't lay claim to recent events being "GOD's wrath".

Remember the movie Oh GOD! with George Burns and John Denver? GOD chose to reveal his disatisfaction with man through a simple servant(Denver); problem was no one would listen. GOD asked Denver to confront a certain minister who was claiming to speak for GOD when he beseeched America for more money to be sent to his ministry. The minister tried to make Denver look like a quack, and pretty much did. The bottom line was that GOD did eventually appear, and in true Hollywood fashion just in the nick of time to prove to a stunned courtroom that Denver was not a quack, and that HE (GOD) exists.

That GOD exists or doesn't exist isn't really my concern, this is a personal belief issue for everyone to work out themselves. I say GOD, and I mean more than one deity, whether it be Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Jehovah and so on...to me GOD is many.....The problem with speaking for GOD arise when certain ministers and fanatics try to grind their idelogical axes into impressionable, searching souls in an effort to justify really their political views.

I've now seen two very documented assertions within the past week that claim New Orlean's destruction to be GOD's wrath. Really now? One comes from Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrahkan, and the other from Repent America director Michael Marcavage. Farrahkan claims this is America's come-uppance for our brutality in the middle east, and our mistreatment of the Palestinians. I think this is crap, no matter what side of the ideological fence you sit on. GOD is not a spiteful GOD. If he were, why then has he chosen the weakest, poorest and most undeserving of New Orleans for his wrath? The other disseminator of GOD's will-- Marcavage claims GOD has inflicted this penalty for New Orleans for its abortion clinics, and the general immorality of the city. Sure Mike, that makes sense.

This is what happens when we try to make sense out of a "natural disaster" of epic proportions. Is it not possible that it was only a matter of time statistically speaking, before a major hurricane was going to overwhelm a city far below sea level?. If the Minister's words were true then where is Africa's payback for Rwanda....or Germany's for the Holocaust; how about Cambodia's for the slaughter of over one million people under Pol Pot? These countries appear to be far more deserving of "GOD's wrath" based on the sheer numbers of people murdered. Obviously these so called prophets and ministers neither speak for the majority of Americans, nor do they represent any type of resposible morality when they claim the innocent are taken because of a nation's political policies or women's rights. GOD knows that government's start wars, not people. Still, this is America, and these men are free to say this---I wonder if they would have been able to say this in Rwanda, Cambodia, and Nazi Germany?

What's Secure About Our Homeland?

HOMELAND
noun [C]
1 the country you were born in.

SECURITY
noun
1 Freedom from risk or danger; safety.

So it occurred to PinF that this new cabinet level appointmentee of "Director of Homeland Security" is a bunch of crap. My homeland looked mighty unsecure this week, which in turn has created a feeling of "Homeland INsecurity" throughout the rest of the nation. One would have thought that four years after 9/11 we might have a better idea of how to handle calamities and catastrophies. So my gripe isn't really so much politically motivated; as I would be equally jaundiced towards whatever party was in power that exhibited such a total sense of misunderstanding.

The point is, if Hurricane Katrina were a test we'd have failed. We must demand more of ALL officials, instead of the local officials blaming the federal, and the federal blaming the state...it's a fricking joke to see our officials react in such a way while our fellow Americans and tax payers suffer and die. The FEMA appointment is another poitical payoff joke, if this had been the private sector he wouldn't even have been a secretary in this department.

The other sad truth is one the Bush administration chooses to both omit, and ignore. That is the fact that the war in Iraq is diverting much needed funds to the US Army Corps of Engineers projects. Since the levee's of New Orleans were identified as one the greatest single risks to the national disaster (by FEMA), the ACofE's has seen their levee improvement costs slashed by 80%. Coincidence we're spending like tourists on vacation in Iraq? I think not.

Another bothersome facet of this mess is the liberal assertion that Bush "allowed" this to happen because of the color of the skin of those left behind. I don't buy this, but I do accept that the urgency wasn't there after it became all too apparent that there were people of all colors dying, though predominently black Americans. So what have we learned? I guess the lesson is that if you attack a center of global commerce and wealth you can expect nothing less than the cavalry. And if a natural, predicted, and deadly "attack" comes from Mother Nature over a broad area containing demographically poorer inhabitants you can expect a varying response. So, better move to an area closer to money, and certainly closer to help.

I'm Back-- and Lucky Too

Eighteen days, 1100 miles, and 6 states later I have returned to work. Need I say more? My wanderlust sated, I now get back to the business of work, rested and eager in a way, as work provides a schedule to our lives. Even in Florida one can see the creeping signs of Fall slowly appearing; the sun is setting much earlier, football occupies most of the sports section, and people are starting though not completely-- to breath a sigh of relief regarding hurricane season.

It was just a year ago this past week that PinF was involved in the challenges, sacrifices, and awe that only a hurricane can present. 5 days with no power, gasoline, ice, or supermarkets. I realize now how easy we got off. Sure it was tough; roof tiles needed replacing, pools needed to be cleaned and yards needed clearing--still it was nothing compared to the poor souls of Missisippi and Louisiana.

I had the good fortune to hang with two "refugees" this holiday weekend who by chance happened to be on vacation in Greece while this calamity occured. They arrived to the news that there house was not flooded but rather under water, as such it was a total loss. It makes you realize how fragile any of our live's really are. We did things that tens of thousands of their fellow New Orleanian's couldn't do-- we ate good meals, slept comfortably, drank good wine and went to the beach. Still the tragedy was never far from us, as they were prone to moments of utter despair. Yet through it all their spirit to return never wavered, nor did their insistance that they would rebuild and get on with their live's.

It seems that so often we look at the news with such a sense of disconnect at the many troubled people of the world who are suffering in varying degrees due to famine, earthquakes, war, and floods. When was the last time you ever heard anyone refer to an American as a "refugee", yet here we were witnessing the despair and death of far too many of our fellow Americans. It really makes you think about all you've got, and how we so often take for granted the small and easily forgotten blessings of the mundane and repetitive details of our daily lives.

Fragile Like Glass

The ocean lies before me with its hypnotic rhythm gently lapping the sand under my tired toes. I set my chair down, sip my coffee, and breathe in the air, trying to be in the moment, absorbing the natural beauty. The occasional pelican shatters the smoothness of the ocean, an inverted predator seeking unseen prey. The sun supported by its low arc on the horizon makes itself known. I feel its warmth on my face, and I squint from its glare. I am home. My journey took me on an exhilarating, familiar path, one that I've traveled many times before: before I was a father and all that stood before me and adventure was the open road and which direction to choose. I remind myself that I'm really home, my motorcycle parked after having logged thousands of miles on the ride north. I traveled home in support of my father, heavy with worry for the changes time was placing on his health and, ultimately, his life. I knew also that these events were transforming something in me as well. My time spent with my father had never seemed as temporary as these past few weeks. My father's health and escalating frailties were etched in my mind and conflicting with the man I knew not long ago. I've learned how a child's recognition of his parents' vulnerabilities to aging appears in moments of sheer sadness wrapped in ephemeral fear. Yet somehow this whole crazy combination gets draped in a nostalgic fondness as the child becomes the protector and parents the protected.

In the past five months I buried a marriage while trying to keep from burying a parent. No one ever tells you about the unique challenges your parent's are facing while you are busy being a kid dreaming about being an adult yourself someday. Ironically, when you eventually realize such truths, you childishly long for the simplistic innocence and familiar fears of your childhood. Though long gone from your body, they somehow sit behind your vision on the world. I still see my childhood whenever I look into my daughter's eyes. Every time she says she can't wait to grow up, I, too, remember saying this. I remember also looking at my dad and thinking he'd always be big and strong, and I'd always be small. I know now that that road to self-discovery is forever lined by such mental billboards. Still, how do you tell a seven year-old to stop and enjoy her youth, her innocence, and this carefree time of life? I can't, so I don't. Instead I knowingly agree as my own parents did with me and wait for that time when my daughter will know the secret, too.

I 'm here now at the beach where I always come when I need to balance my world. I'm often reminded of John F. Kennedy's quote where he relates man's quest and affinity for the oceans of the world as something so natural, so logical, reasoning that the earth is made up of three quarters water and so, too, is the human body. The simplicity of such a thought makes sense - the vastnesses, the ebb, and the flow - all reminding me that the ocean is life itself. I have my coffee, my journal, and I'm about to completely zone out of the thoughts, worries, and concerns I've carried for weeks, surrendering them to the life force of the sea as I wade along its edge. Almost magically, I begin to feel the tenseness drain from my mind, and a sense of restorative calm take its place as I slowly amble through the morning tide. It is 8:30 am, and I've just arrived after taking my daughter, Sophia, to school. I am surrounded by the beauty of all that is unique to Florida: the palm trees, the turquoise water, and by virtue of the month, the absence of tourists. The sun sits directly in front of me now, low on the horizon, but quickly rising in both heat and position. Fishermen cast from the pier and the lifeguard yawns lazily as he opens his station for another day. I am readjusting to the pace of my life again, still enjoying my vacation and my solitude, allowing myself quiet and reflective time just to enjoy the beach. And yet, my mind still pulses from the riding adventure, and I am drawn back to specific memories of where I've been and the people I saw.

Those who truly know me know there's nothing more I enjoy than a do-nothing-day at the beach with a good book and some music. This is exactly what I have on my hands today. The sea is silken and glistens in the sun. Days like these allow me to search for smoothly shaped and uniquely colored beach glass that has washed ashore with the new day's tide. I've just returned from the beaches of my youth in New Jersey and found not one piece in seven days. Why you can't find these gems in New Jersey, I can only guess. Could it be the prohibition of alcohol on the beach, thereby negating a steady flow of glass bottles? Florida has no such laws to prohibit people from bringing anything to the beach, which creates a laissez-faire atmosphere with regard to personal beach intrusions. Beach glass collecting is something done more here in Florida than up north for just this reason. My daughter, Sophia, has become caught up in the hunt as well and has a little jar next to her bed with her "stash."

I walk slowly along the beach scanning the tidal deposits for tiny bits of colored glass like a prospector looking for gold. For me, it is in the discovery that I learn the patience required for the search. Though unlike gold veins, the beach re-deposits a fresh batch everyday, creating an endless supply of gems, provided the searcher is determined. My mind is drifting to the music that fills my ears as I walk while the sun continues its steady rise over my shoulders. The warm turquoise water gently laps at my ankles, a constant reminder of how relaxing and mindless such therapy can be. Before someone can even attempt to look for these little nuggets, it helps to understand the order of discovery when searching a beach. I know glass comes in an endless spectrum of colors, though when searching for it on the beach; it primarily appears in five different ones. In order of rarity, the rarest being the first, they would fall into this order: Red, Blue, White, Greenish-blue, Brown. In my eight years of searching, I've only ever found one red one, just one. So it could be said that red beach glass could be considered the "holy grail" of beach glass collecting. Once the "order" is understood, a collector can begin to appreciate the uniqueness of each piece against the backdrop of literally tens of thousands of shells that serve as each piece's subterfuge.

The red glass represents family: rare, irreplaceable, and unique. It is rare to see red bottles or glassware because they are finite in number as are family members. The lesson is that in life we will be given few rare pieces, so they must be nurtured, cherished, and cared for. A lost treasure can never be replaced. Luckily I was able to be with every single one of my red pieces: my parents and four brothers. The next rarest color is cobalt blue. This color represents the few true life-long friends any of us can hope to have in life everyone will have at least one, sometimes more if we're lucky. These are the friends that are loved as if they were family; they are also the friends with whom we can pick right up where we left off one, five or even ten years later. These people are friends in spite of your faults and flaws. These two core groups in our lives are both precious and rare; I spent time with both-- mixing equal parts of fun, laughter and a few tears sprinkled with some shared pain. Still, no matter the moment or circumstance, these people and the influence they have over our lives can never be diminished due to their unique beauty and rarity.

The cloudy white or clear glass, though more common, is also a hard find on most days. This color speaks of another core of friends; though less connected than the others, they are no less dear. These are the friends we all hold dear in our lives though we may occasionally lose track of them, and they remain in our hearts and thoughts forever. I was blessed to be reminded of this often unique type of friendship when I was invited for lunch by a dear friend, someone introduced to me by my mother, but a long-standing friend of mine all the same. The respect, admiration, and joy I feel for this woman and her two children is immense, as they continue to navigate through the loss of both husband and father much too soon in their collective lives. The hours spent with these three on my trip were profound in retrospect, as this family's courage and tenacity are a lesson in the dignity of overcoming true loss and heartache. And like looking through a fine piece of clear glass, I can see their spirits shine through even the cloudiest of days.

The next glass found with certain regularity is the greenish-blue variety or the dark green ones. These represent all the wonderful people who make up the experiences along life's journey, and I met many on mine as I traveled by both motor-cycle and train. If nothing else, the slow train home allowed me to really get to know fellow traveler s for once - from the retired widowed school teacher, to the underprivileged student from Washington DC attending college on a scholarship in Florida. These are the many pieces that are common in our lives and often serve as content for our character. Though we may never see these fleeting strangers again, they all combine to change our life's direction, if only by an inch, because they crossed our path. These, too, are valuable and necessary pieces in the design of life's mosaic.

The most common glass found is the Budweiser brown type. These pieces are quite fitting as they represent the everyman that all of us are surrounded by throughout life. These are the peripheral people who we meet in our daily comings and goings, hence the total ease in discovering such pieces. In my "jar," I have but one red piece, several blues, a few more whites, and a handful of the blue-green ones. Seventy percent of my jar is populated by brown pieces of ocean-smoothed glass. The similarities of glass and people don't end with just colors because like glass, people, too, are fragile. And like glass, people can be shaped over time, though some take longer than others. In the case of glass, its smoothness represents maturation, experience, and wisdom, all traits we like to find in each other. In life we yearn to be with people whose rough and sharp edges have been worn off to reveal the true nature and beauty of the person stripped of pretenses and worn smooth by experience and wisdom.My search for these pieces of glass continues, and it is not unlike our own searches for friends of distinction and character; both are valuable and unique. Today my search yielded one cobalt, two white, four light bluish-green, ten brown. I'm still on vacation, so I'll be at it again tomorrow just enjoying the newest memories of my family, friends, the good times we shared, and the similarities of life's crystalline lessons to the fragile similarities that connect us all.

Motorcycle Diaries Part II...

Ok.....PinF has made back and in relatively good shape. The VStrom performed exceptionally. I have many tales and a few photos.....I just need to get some rest...stay tuned the mother of all blog posts is coming....the editorial staff is busy collecting the many tales of these here MC Diaries as reported to PinF.......

Ok, so where to start? Well at the beginning of course. First, I would be remiss not to give thanks to God for delivering me safely through roughly a thousand miles of journeying. 2005 has brought many changes to PinF's life. Unlike years past when I still had my relative independence, not to mention freedom of responsibility to no one but myself, I now have the daily responsibility to little Sophia. Still with many responsibilities come equal blessings; I have never been more aware of these blessings than I have in this past year. Still I am a wanderer at heart, always have been, so it was an obvious choice to reconnect to times long since passed where I could just pick up and go. The older I've become the more I've realized that no matter where you go, or what you do in life your problems and blessings go with you. Still it was the solitude and independence I craved, the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted, and this facet of my sojourn was realized.

DAY1....Watched as my teary eyed daughter again had to see her father leave for the second time in under a month; the first time due to my unexpected visit to care for my father in July. Explaining matters of the heart, family, and death to children is often a fruitless task, today would be no exception as you would have thought I was shipping out to Iraq judging by Sophie's reaction. The hardest part of any journey is always the first step, this was proving to be true as I watched her leave sobbing inconsolably with her mami to school. With the emotion of the moment I jumped on the bike, fired her up and turned onto I95 north. I first had to stop for some cash, this is where my first omen would occur as I left my debit card in the machine; blame it on my head not being in the moment, though who could blame me?

I plowed forward depsite this minor inconvenience, the bike laden down with all the necessary road gear and music. I had the earplugs on and I was soon jamming to Citizen Cope as I steadily settled in for my 200 mile journey to the train depot in Sanford Florida, 25 miles northeast of Orlando. The sky was cobalt blue as the feeling of complete freedom swept over me like the wind that was now rushing past me at 80MPH. I was struck by the low lying puffy clouds that seem to be a fixture of Florida, and as I drove the road slowly opened up more and more to the rural beauty that is central Florida. I stopped an hour into the ride to change CD's, this time going to Bob Marley "Exodus", without doubt my most loved album of all time. I was soon in a world cut off from all stress, worry, or care as I slowly played the songs in my ears to the memories in my mind of so many great times lived where this album had played so prominently in the moment.

I was nearing Sanford by 1pm, the heat of the day was nearing 100 and yet it all felt good. The music, the freedom, the bike. It was as if I had been transported back to earlier times when I would hop on my cycle with probably no more than $10 and just drive; mind you, ten dollars bought a hell of lot more gas then too. I finally arrived in Sanford, which for anyone who has never had the pleasure is similar to Gibbstown NJ, only with alot more tattoo parlors and bars. Not to mention a major rail hub running through it. .......more to follow